He held out the wrinkled slip of paper, but Ridley’s eyes focused on something red and shiny near Julian’s foot. “I believe you dropped this.” Bending, he retrieved the folded piece of foil, and though he knew he shouldn’t, held it open to read the words printed across the front. “The Conservatory Garden? Who exactly are you meeting?”
“I don’t know yet.” Julian snatched the ticket from Ridley’s fingers and replaced it with the receipt containing his telephone number. “I’ll find out when I get there.” His cheeks flushed, and he refused to meet Ridley’s gaze. “I really should go. Call me tomorrow?” Without waiting for a response, he shoved the date ticket into his pocket and practically ran out of the store.
“I’ll call,” Ridley promised quietly as he watched the front door swing closed.
“You look like someone kicked your puppy.” Bridget popped up from the other side of the shelf with a beaming smile. “That sucks.”
“Answer me something, pet. Did some bloke make you this bloody evil, or were you merely born this way?”
Bridget shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it’s hereditary.”
“Brilliant.” An idea began to take root, something he couldn’t possibly act on, not if he wanted to maintain any kind of dignity. No, definitely not. Julian would never forgive him. Fuck it. “Right, you’re in charge. I have somewhere to be.”
* * * *
Sirens blared, horns honked, and loud music blasted from the jazz club down the block. Sitting on the balcony of his one bedroom, overpriced condo on the Upper East Side, Julian swirled the wine around in his glass as he stared out into the city.
Below him, people scurried about like robotic chipmunks, chattering away on their cell phone while they hurried to work, home, or maybe just to meet a friend for drinks. Everyone was always in such a hurry, which made it easy to spot the tourists. The cameras around their necks, and the maps clutched in their hands would be a dead giveaway, but Julian could always pick out a non-New Yorker, simply by watching them walk.
He’d traveled the world and seen some amazing sights, but he always came back to New York. For as long as he could remember, he’d been in love with the city and reveled in its energy. “The city that never sleeps,” he mused with a sardonic grin.
The clubs, the art, the culture, the history—he loved it all, and yet, lately, none of it made him happy. The constant noise grated on his nerves. The endless need to have more, to be more, it exhausted him. He’d chosen a place near Central Park to give him an outlet when he needed to unwind and recharge. He never seemed to find the time to visit the park, though, and for that, his magic suffered.
Not that he could do anything so spectacular—make flowers bloom, change their color, manipulate water, or create a warm breeze—but he missed the serenity his magic gave him. His mother had once told him woodland elves weren’t meant to live in sprawling, urban jungles for long periods of time, but of course, he’d ignored her. Every decade or so, however, the itch began, the overwhelming need to be free of the nearly manic city and its inhabitants. This time, it had just happened to come sooner than he’d expected.
The wall clock in the living room chimed the hour, pulling him from his depressing, thoughts. Tipping the glass to his lips, Julian finished off his wine and shuffled inside to prepare for his date. When he’d awoken that morning, he’d been nervous but also excited. It had been ages since he’d been to the gardens, and even longer since he’d been on a real date. Now, he felt nothing but a mild sense of curiosity, and he doubted that would be enough to carry him through the evening.
He’d known his new books wouldn’t arrive until after the weekend, but it had been excuse to drop by The Book Attic to see Ridley. “You’re a glutton for punishment, Julian. Truly an idiot.”
When he’d walked into the bookshop, he’d had no intentions of asking the guy over for breakfast. When Ridley began barking at him, demanding to know where he’d been, Julian hadn’t been upset. In fact, he’d had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The poor guy had it bad, and he didn’t even realize it. Until Ridley decided what he wanted, though, and stood by that decision, Julian had sworn to himself he’d keep their relationship strictly platonic.
Gods, he was weak where Ridley was concerned, though. When he’d looked at Julian with that lost, broken expression, it had nearly undone him. Every promise he’d made himself and all the reasons he knew he should stay away flew out the proverbial window as though they’d never existed.
Julian was tired of the games, though. He wanted someone who wouldn’t run every time things got hard or a little too intense, a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it. Someone the complete opposite of Ridley Dragos.
Now, if he could just convince his heart of that, he’d be in business. “Ridley, you idiot, you will be the end of me.”
Chapter Five
With his ticket in hand, Julian stopped at the entrance to the Conservatory Garden and looked up and down Fifth Avenue. Couples strolled together down the sidewalk, but no one paid him any attention or appeared to be looking for someone. Maybe the guy wouldn’t show. Somehow, Julian couldn’t bring himself to feel too disappointed about the possibility.
The chilly afternoon had given way to an even colder evening, and the temperatures would only drop further come nightfall. Julian had dressed for the occasion in his wool pea coat and thick scarf, but his cheeks, ears, and nose stung from the winds that picked up and whipped through the park. He really hoped his date didn’t plan to stay for long.
The gardens weren’t nearly as colorful or full of life in the winter, but it still held a kind of quiet, haunting beauty. Tucking his shiny red ticket into the breast pocket of his coat, Julian entered the park, scanning for anyone who looked as out of place as he felt. As he made his way to the fountain at the western end of the Center Garden, he stopped at a barren flower bed and knelt beside it.
At one time, he’d have been able to bring the entire garden to life, but he’d neglected his magic for too long. Now, the best he could accomplish was a single burgundy rose. Instead of lamenting in his sad performance, however, Julian plucked the rose from the soil and spun it in his fingers, smiling as he pushed to his feet.
“Not bad,” a man commented as he approached from the direction of the fountain.
Before Julian could work himself into a panic, the guy produced a red, foil ticket and held it up between thumb and forefinger. Sighing in relief, Julian pulled his own, identical ticket from his pocket and passed the flower to his date. “Well, I couldn’t show up empty handed, could I?”
“Can I ask what kind of elf you are?”
Julian had to work to keep his expression passive. “Let’s start with names.”
The stranger stared at the rose for a moment, and then dropped it back into the flower bed before offering his hand. “Harris Hastings.”
Rude much? Still, Julian stretched his lips in the semblance of a smile and shook the proffered hand. “Julian Haell.”
“I’ve never been with an elf before.” His tone implied he didn’t mean “been with” in the casual sense, either. “Are you going to tell me what kind of elf you are?”
“Woodland,” Julian bit out, hoping his answer would appease his date so they could move on to something less personal. “How about you?” With his cocky attitude and poor manners, Julian would guess some rare form of apex douchebag. Of course, he’d be right, but still, he’d like to know what he was dealing with before things went any further.
Smoothing his fingers down the zipper of his black leather jacket, Harris grinned in a predatory kind of way, revealing pointed canines. “Vampire,” he purred. “Don’t worry, though. I ate before I came.”
“That was nice of you. O positive or B negative?”
“Blonde,” Harris cooed, “and delicious.”
He laughed at his own joke, but Julian’s stomach turned in revulsion. A guy had to eat, and he would be the last to criticize, but vampires like Ha
rris gave the entire species a bad name. For pity’s sake, the man still had a tint of red in the corner of his lips, likely left over from his pre-date meal—or pre-date date…whatever.
“I guess we should be going.” Gods, please let this be over with soon.
“I made reservations at Orsay. I’m sure you’ll like it.” Again, his tone implied he didn’t really care if Julian found the restaurant acceptable or not. “Shall we?” He tried to take Julian’s hand, but a frigid gust of wind sent him stumbling several steps sideways. “What the hell?”
Julian held his hands up and shrugged. “Hey, don’t look at me.” No way was he going to go strolling through the city holding Harris’s hand, but he hadn’t been the one to cause the wind. Turning his laughter into a cough, Julian began walking, but stopped abruptly when something crunched beneath his loafers. “Oh,” he breathed.
Instead of lonely and discarded in the flower bed, the rose he’d given Harris lay across the walkway at his feet. He’d crushed the stem when he’d stepped on it, but the petals remained intact, frosted over and shining like jewels in the late afternoon sun. Bending, Julian retrieved the rose and held it to his lips, smiling when the frozen droplets of water didn’t melt from the warmth of his breath.
“What about that?” Harris asked, jabbing his finger at the rose. “Did you do that?”
“Nope.” Breaking off the ruined part of the stem, Julian held the flower up the sun, mesmerized by the way it glittered and sparkled. “It’s beautiful, though, isn’t it?”
“I guess.” Harris huffed as he tried to tame his dark, wavy locks. “Can we go now?”
“Sure.”
As they walked the eight blocks to Orsay, Julian listened to his companion drone on and on about all things Harris. He didn’t mind, though. As long as the guy continued to talk about himself, Julian wasn’t required to participate. Twice, Harris moved as though to hold his hand again, but each time ended badly for him. The first time he’d tried it, another gust of icy wind had literally lifted him off his feet and deposited him six feet away, much to Julian’s amusement.
He didn’t know if the vampire was stubborn or just plain stupid, but he didn’t seem to get the hint after the first two attempts. As they neared the restaurant, Harris reached out to take Julian’s hand again, only this time, he jerked it back and howled in pain when his fingers turned blue and icicles formed on the tips.
“Julian,” Harris snapped, “stop being childish.”
It probably didn’t help that he couldn’t stop laughing, but Julian did his best to look contrite. “I’m sorry, Harris. I’m really not doing this, though.”
By the time the hostess seated them at a table by the window, Harris’s fingers had thawed, which was kind of disappointing. On the other hand, Julian didn’t know how much longer he could take the complaints and accusations before his head exploded. When the server appeared to take their drink order, Julian requested a Chocolate Sin Martini, ignoring Harris’s disapproving scowl. If the man could enjoy his own company sans alcohol, good for him. Julian didn’t quite have the stamina for it, though.
“Where are you from, Harris?”
“I grew up in Vermont. I was quarterback and team captain all through high school, and I have to say I was pretty popular. Won Homecoming King two years in a row. I probably would have won more than that, but I wasn’t eligible until junior year.”
For the next ten minutes, Julian was treated to the Greatest Moments in the Life of Harris Hastings, complete with commentary, from high school through his second year of college. At that point, thankfully, the server reappeared to take their dinner order.
“Can I start you off with an appetizer?”
“No,” Harris answered at once. He ordered some steak something or another and a bowl of soup before turning to look at Julian expectantly.
“Just another martini.” He chuckled quietly when a cold breeze ruffled the tips of his hair. “And the Atlantic salmon,” he added, still smiling.
As soon as the server left, Harris picked up where he’d left off in the epic tale of his accomplishments, loudly interrupting anytime Julian tried to get a word in or ask a question. So, Julian just smiled and nodded a lot while saying things like, “That’s fascinating. Tell me more.”
As he waited for Harris to run out of stories about himself—or drop dead from lack of oxygen—he sat back in his chair and twirled his still-frozen rose, thinking back to the first time he’d met Ridley and had accidently changed the color of that tulip.
“Julian?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you listening?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “What did you say?”
“I was discussing your poor eating habits. Alcohol and excess sugar? I’d think you’d want to take better care of your body than that. Alcohol, especially beer, makes the blood bitter.”
When Ridley chastised him about his sweet tooth, Julian found it endearing. When Harris did it, he wanted to kick the jerk in the shin. “Well, good thing I’m not drinking beer,” he responded with a sugariness that made his teeth ache as he tipped his drink to his lips. “You won’t be getting anywhere near my blood, either, so I wouldn’t concern yourself too much.”
“I bet you’d like it.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t.”
“You’re not really my type anyway.” Harris shrugged as his gaze travelled over Julian’s face and down his neck to his chest. “You’re too pretty and soft. I thought you were a woman when I first saw you, which is why it took me so long to introduce myself.”
Julian might have been offended if Harris hadn’t been so transparent in his attempt to wound him. Luckily, the waiter arrived with the vampire’s carrot soup—eww—saving Julian from the need to respond to the insult. “That looks…interesting.”
“It’s vitamin dense and very good for you.” Lifting the spoon to his lips, Harris blew on the soup before tasting it. “It doesn’t have sugar or chocolate or tons of trans fats in it, so you obviously wouldn’t like it.” His upper lip curled in a sneer as he raised the spoon lips again.
As he parted his lips, the entire spoon and its contents froze solid, and before Julian could stop him, Harris popped the cold blob into his mouth. The second the spoon touched his tongue, he tried to yank it out of his mouth, howling in pain when the icy metal stuck to his tongue and the inside of his bottom lip.
“Oh, uh, wow, okay.” Julian chuckled and snorted, but still, he felt compelled to help the vampire. “Try putting some water on it.” He pushed his own glass toward Harris.
He needn’t have tried, though. Before his fingers even left the water glass, the spoon had melted, along with its contents, spilling orange soup down the front of Harris’s black, button-down dress shirt. “Julian, I played along with your little jokes, but this is unacceptable.”
“Harris, I don’t know how many ways to say this, but I haven’t caused any of this. You saw what I can do, and it didn’t involve ice or wind.”
“Stop lying,” Harris hissed as he dabbed at his shirt with the cloth napkin. “I’m certainly not doing it, so that just leaves you.”
“Believe what you will, but I promise you, it’s not me.” For a moment, Julian thought about tearing his ticket in two and ending the date before anything else could go wrong. The only reason he didn’t take the express ride home was pure curiosity of what more could possibly happen to the egotistical vampire across from him. “Let’s just finish eating. I can tell you some about my culture, if you’d like.”
“How do you pronounce your last name?”
Not the nicest way to ask, but at least he’d finally shown some interest in anything besides himself. “Hay-eel,” Julian answered, drawing out the syllables. “Most people butcher it, though, so I usually introduce myself as Julian Hale.”
“Well, technically, both pronunciations are incorrect. It’s actually pronounced AH-ell, with the H silent. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
Julian blinked s
everal times, unsure if he’d heard correctly or had hallucinated Harris telling him how to correctly pronounce his own name. “Thank you for clearing that up. I can’t believe my entire family has been saying it wrong for centuries.”
“That’s okay, don’t feel bad. I hear most elves aren’t very smart. I’m glad I could help you, though.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. “Tell me more about—”
“Ah!” Harris yelped and sprang up from the table when his soup bowl toppled over of its own accord and landed right in his lap.
Pressing his lips together and widening his eyes, Julian tried so hard not to laugh he felt sure he’d give himself an aneurism. He hadn’t felt the breeze that time, hadn’t noticed anything else on the table move, but something had certainly knocked over the dish. For a fleeting moment, Julian questioned if maybe he’d been the one causing the mischief after all. Thinking back on it, the cold winds and awful things happening to Harris always occurred right after he’d said or done something to set Julian’s teeth on edge.
A flash of blue caught his attention outside the window, and from the corner of his eye, Julian caught just a glimpse of a scaly head ducking out of site behind the trash bin. Ridley. Ignoring Harris as he ranted at the server, Julian stretched his arm out toward the window, carefully pressing his palm flat against the glass.
At once, tendrils of ice and frost spread around his fingers on the glass, forming a hand print much larger than his own. He’d suspected his dear, confused friend since finding the rose in the gardens, and now that he had confirmation, the incidents of the night seemed so much funnier for some reason.
“I should be mad at you,” he whispered as a gentle smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“Julian, what the hell are you doing?” Harris barked once the server had scurried off to find the manager.
Huffing in annoyance, Julian pulled his hand away from the window and arched an eyebrow at his surly companion. “Maybe we should just cut our losses and call it a night.”
Letters to Julian (A Cupid Inc Novella) Page 5